Perfect Day
by SadArticle
Summary: A cheat, because I wrote this ficlet a few years back. The day turns out nice again for Michael. Light fun.


_An elderly challenge, to describe a perfect day for one of the characters. Or something similarly self-explanatory. Dug out of mothballs, spritzed up with punctuation here and there, and posted here. Thanks to Knightshade, who kept it safe for so many years!_

**Perfect Day**

Michael, through the veil of his eyelashes, located Devon across the sunroom. The elder man was sitting by the French doors, sipping from a delicate cup as he glanced at a newspaper. The younger man gingerly made his way over to the table.

"Devon." Michael spoke levelly.

"Ah, Michael!" chimed the reply, supported by the percussion of china cup returning to matching saucer. "Oh, dear boy, you look a picture. Sit down."

Devon pulled out one of the white cane chairs, which scraped along the tiled floor. "Sorry," he whispered, matching his employee's grimace.

"I'm fine, it's just too early," Michael mumbled.

Devon made a move to glance at his watch.

"I know what time it is," Michael pre-empted with a groan, running his fingers through his hair. He bowed his head, and massaged the nape of his neck.

"I did warn you to slow down, you know," Devon offered. He returned his attention to the day's news as Michael peered at him from beneath knotted brow.

"It was your fault I was drinking in the first place. You dragged me along to that stupid fundraiser," Michael shot back. "You know I hate those things."

"I thought it was about time you made your annual? Biannual? Eventual? appearance, Michael," Devon intoned. "It's not fair to expect Bonnie to have to support me in representing the Foundation every time."

Michael rolled his eyes, and waved a hand in surrender.

"Coffee?"

"I am not hung over."

"No," Devon accepted, and poured another cup from the set on the table. "It might brighten your mood, anyway."

Michael raised his head. "Sorry. Where is Bonnie, anyway?"

"Work, Michael. The garage, I think." Humour danced in Devon's blue eyes. "She did ask about you, actually. Earlier this morning."

"Oh, I'll bet she did!" Michael snorted. "'Not too bad, I quite enjoyed the Brudenell black-tie last year', I'm sure!"

"Perhaps she did," Devon played along.

"Yeah, and perhaps Kitt's circuitry is always a pressing event at eight o' clock in the evening."

"Well, drink your coffee, and you can ask her yourself when you get to the garage," Devon rushed.

Michael sighed. "Oh, don't tell me."

"I won't. Kitt should have all the details by now."

* * *

Michael stepped from the Foundation building into the bright sunlight, and then stepped back again. From the breast pocket of his petrol blue shirt, he produced his aviator sunglasses. "Let's try that one again," he breathed.

"Morning, Michael," a female voice caught him on the drive. "Just about."

"Hey, Kathy," he beamed at the Foundation's public-relations assistant. "And don't you start."

"I heard a rumour that you were the first person to actually have fun at the Brudenell fundraiser evening?"

"You better be teasing –" He pointed a finger in mock-accusation.

"Of course. Nobody could enjoy that one."

They waved goodbye, and Michael watched her step inside with an appreciative glance.

Dour fundraising occasions and being permanently on-call aside, Michael supposed he was very lucky in how his career had panned out. Sometimes it felt as though he didn't have any freedom, and that the Foundation for Law and Government had funded his current existence and therefore owned his every move, lock, stock and barrel, but he had to balance that with what he had gained.

Another chance, that was the main thing. His life as Police Detective Michael Long was over, but at least he still had a life. And for that, he had Wilton Knight and Devon Miles to thank. They had given him Michael Knight, and everything that the mysterious operative had in his life. A family, of sorts: Devon, Bonnie, and Kitt. The highest level of support behind his actions and choices in his line of work, and personal support when the reality of what he did everyday got to him. A permanent home, a 'base', somewhere to return to – something Michael valued after having lost everything once over.

And the main thing, the thing that made him– the Knight Industries Two Thousand. Kitt was, on a law enforcement level, the equivalent of a whole police force. Back-up, personal protection, technological support, tracking, insider information for records andpersonal files, a database on every possible subject, even a mobile search warrant on occasions. He was also a partner, something that Michael had once sworn against ever taking on again, after losing Muntzy.

On a personal level, Kitt was more than Michael would ever admit to, even to himself. There were so many levels to the artificially intelligent car, so many capabilities, that Michael often overlooked the more 'human' aspects of what Kitt provided. Friendship, support, loyalty. Advice, whether requested or not, and even communication Michael was on the road so much that, without Kitt's constant presence, he probably would have abandoned the Foundation, and his debt to Wilton, after the first year. Abandoned his new life, or have been killed.

* * *

The garage was a single-storey building of wood and corrugated metal. It was also about twice as large as it appeared, and ten times more secure. Michael approached the raised double doors of the structure still lost in his reverie. Kitt was parked half-in and half-out, 'ready to roll'. The human half of the partnership smiled.

"Doctor Frankenstein finished with her alterations for today?" he joked.

"Really, Michael," came Kitt's familiar tone of disapproval.

"Well, if I'm Frankenstein, you're surely the monster," Bonnie added from the shadows. She stepped into the daylight with a cloth in her hands. "I see you found a way to survive last night." Bonnie wiped her hands and threw the rag at Michael.

"I've got a bone to pick with you about that," he said, as he caught the missile.

Bonnie smiled. "Oh, come on –at least you're a guy. You wouldn't have had half the elderly 'bachelors' there hitting on you!"

"Who says?" Michael smirked. He leant against the passenger side door of the Knight 2000. "Devon hinted that I'm about to be tortured even further this morning. He said Kitt would have the details?" He asked Bonnie, and then shot over his shoulder, "Hit me with it, buddy."

"How can you resist such an invitation, Kitt?" Bonnie stage-whispered. "He'll tell you about it on the way. I've included everything you should need."

"This just sounds better all the time."

"We all have to earn a living, Michael," she chided, though only half-heartedly. "I've got a computer screen to stare at for a couple of hours. You get to take a drive in an air-conditioned car."

"Where am I driving to? That's what I'm worried about."

* * *

Michael nestled back into the support of his seat, and let his partner guide the Knight 2000 along the curving drive of the Foundation. Readouts and gauges on the dashboard monitored the car's progress, and the windscreen tinted slightly to cut out the morning glare. This was a pretty easy living.

The guard in the security booth did a jerky double-take as he reached to open the gates and then realised which car it was. Michael smiled behind tented fingers. "Think he'll ever get used to you?"

"You should see him on night duty," Kitt replied in a comically hushed tone. "He listens at the door when he checks the garage."

Michael waved to the guard, who responded hesitantly after witnessing Michael address the empty car interior. "Makes you wonder what Devon tells his security personnel."

Kitt activated the gate's mechanism, and seconds later they were out on the open road. Michael made sure his feet were tucked back away from the pedals, and then relaxed, and closed his eyes behind his shades.

In the early days, he had been a little apprehensive of Kitt being in control of the car; and this despite his partner's obvious skill, or the logic of the car being almost like a body controlled by a human mind. Kitt had even driven him to safety after the conclusion of their first case in Milston, but still doubts had lingered. It wasn't that he thought he could do better, or that Devon's words about Kitt's anti-collision programming had gone unheeded; just that it was incredible to watch the car in action. He would sit and watch the dashboard indicators in a bid to transfer his attention from the high speeds and other traffic. Auto Cruise. Guidance, Approach Warning, Range Estimates, Sensor Range. Speed, RPM. All expertly monitored and measured, and all at the same time.

Now so many years had passed, so many tests of ability and loyalty, that Michael doubted his own driving skills before those of his partner, and was more than content to sit back.

"So where are we headed? Who called 1-800-FLAG now?" Michael mumbled. He had one arm balanced on the door and the other across his stomach, as he enjoyed the sunshine through the windscreen.

"You'll see."

Michael opened his eyes. "What?"

"Bonnie told me not to tell you until we were there. Or close."

He raised his eyebrows. "An ambush?"

Michael was greeted with Kitt's 'diplomatic silence'. He sat up straight and studied the sunlit voice modulator through narrowed eyes, then keyed in the code for the car's mapping system.

A message appeared on Kitt's CRT screen: _Kitt__ knows where he's going. You don't have to. Be patient._

Michael's mouth dropped open. "What –?"

He shifted his focus from the screen to the windows, and craned out at the highway, which yielded no clues at that point. "Kitt, this is more than a little worrying, you know."

"Michael, do you trust me?"

"Well, I did."

"Would I ever hurt you, or place you in a dangerous situation?"

"You're programmed not to."

"Well then."

"Programmed by Bonnie."

"And you seriously believe that Bonnie wishes you any harm?"

"Not until that fundraiser last night."

"Seriously."

"No, Kitt. And I trust you. But I hate surprises!"

"You'll like this one."

Michael's mouth twitched into a smile. "Was that a slip?"

A different kind of silence. The smile blossomed.

* * *

Michael let the California roads zip past the windows, moderately reassured that he wasn't being dropped into the middle of some Foundation mission this time. An old Eagles tape played on the car's system.

"What's north-north-east?" Michael mused. He studied the LED compass on the far left of the dash.

"That will never help you."

"Meaning?"

"Your sense of direction leaves something to be desired."

"That, and you've been looping all over town since we left the Foundation," Michael observed. "This isn't a direct route to anywhere."

"So you noticed."

"Are we evading something, or killing time?"

"Procrastinating."

"That too."

"We're on our way now."

Michael glanced at the view like a child being awoken to the words 'We're here'. He recognised the scenery. "Hey "

"Yes, Michael."

"The beach? Devon's letting me go to the beach?"

"There's a picnic and cold drinks in the trunk. Plus your rather distasteful beach apparel."

Michael grinned. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"Devon thought you'd earned it. Please don't ask me to explain the lapse in the man's logic."

"Is he going to be there?"

"Devon? At the beach?"

Michael laughed. "OK, I'm getting carried away."

* * *

"Hey, let me take it from here."

'Auto Cruise' clicked to 'Manual', and Michael powered the sleek black car down the sandy ramp to the rippled surface of the beach below. He gently rolled the Knight 2000 forward, babying Kitt's preoccupation with his turbines, and coasted until he reached the more compact sand by the water's edge.

"That's quite close enough."

"Are you sure?" Michael asked archly. "Because you know –" He gunned the accelerator.

"Michael –"

"Hmm."

"Oh, I hate this."

Michael stomped on the pedal. The rear wheels battled with the shifting surface beneath, but then Kitt's traction won and they raced along the surf.

"Woooooohoo!" Michael called his familiar battle cry.

The car cut through the ozone. The windscreen was spritzed with water, and the body with grit. Sun reflected on the t-tops, and a crisp sky tinted the hood. Michael slowed, and cruised around a prominent section of headland into a small cove.

As he turned away from the water, Michael noticed that somebody had already staked out a section of sand. A red and white striped parasol had been driven into the ground over a beach towel. Michael's interest was stirred further at the sight of a brunette in a white windcheater knelt over a large straw holdall. He killed the engine without breaking his gaze from her windblown hair and shapely legs.

"Devon really thinks of everything," Michael smiled.

"Michael –"

"What? Devon thinks I deserve a vacation, who am I to argue?"

"Please. Be my guest."

"Pop the trunk."

Michael clambered out of the car, and paused by the door. The woman still hadn't turned around. He moved to the trunk. A blue and white cooler had been shored against the left taillight, and a matching hamper against the right. His tan overnight bag was full, and balanced on a dark blue towel.

He looked out across the water as he shucked his trainers and socks. The horizon was a hazy blue-green as the water blended with the sunny sky, and gulls wheeled over the white-tipped waves. It was a perfect antidote to the worst morning-after.

Michael bumped the lid shut with his elbow, and staggered alongside his partner. He had his overnight bag and towel slung over his shoulders, and the awkward plastic handles of the food carriers balanced on his forearms.

"How about some music?" he spoke softly to Kitt.

"Beethoven? Beach Boys?"

"Just the radio will do." Stations were searched and adjusted, until something by Santana drifted softly from the car. "Perfect."

Michael warmed up his much-practiced smile and padded across the warm sands to where the woman was still searching in her bag. "Lost something?" he asked, sure she was aware of his presence behind her.

"No, I was just waiting to see what your line would be," a familiar voice answered. Bonnie gave up her pretence and turned to look up at Michael.

Michael dropped to his knees in exaggerated shock, unloading his boxes and baggage into the sand. "Wow, you guys must have been plotting all morning!"

"Not really, I just got up at a reasonable time," she ribbed. "Devon thought you endured last night admirably, and didn't think it was fairon anyoneto send you out in afragile condition. So we planned this."

Michael turned to look back out at the sea. "Well, thank you. And thanks for coming along."

"Oh, my pleasure. I really would have had to look at a computer screen all morning, otherwise."

"What was with the cryptic message on Kitt's monitor?"

"Oh!" Bonnie smirked. "Kitt told me you've finally begun to master some of the computer functions manually. I thought you might try the onboard mapping."

"I was very scared, at one point. I just want you to know."

Bonnie smiled. "I know. I was eavesdropping. Kitt opened a channel."

"Oh! Oh, right! I get a day off, but at a price –your amusement!" He scoffed, and then smiled back.

She sniggered. "'An ambush'!"

"What? It's very possible."

"Open those hampers, you yo-yo," she ordered through laughter. "Kitt, come up here with us!" Kitt's engine growled into life, and the black car crawled further up the beach.

"Are we forgiven?" Kitt asked sheepishly over the music.

"Oh, I think it could have been a lot worse, partner."

Michael lifted the plastic containers over to Bonnie's side, and then laid out his towel. He cracked open the drinks cooler first. "Hair of the dog?"

"Not for you. Take a soda."

Michael took a Coke, and watched as Bonnie popped the hamper lid. He supposed he should feel cheated, spending his limited personal time on a sort of busman's holiday with the Foundation's chief cybernetic technician and her multi-million dollar charge. Devon would probably chime in through Kitt any moment to inform him of a case that needed his urgent attention. Yet sitting on the beach with Bonnie and Kitt felt like exactly what he needed, like the only thing he would ever need.

"How long do you think we get?" He asked, and then slouched back on his towel, one ear open for the intercom chime of the real world.


End file.
